


A Step Towards Home

by AlulaSpeaks



Series: Wincestmas 2017 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13727934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlulaSpeaks/pseuds/AlulaSpeaks
Summary: A morning in the life.





	A Step Towards Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StripySock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/gifts).



> A bit of domestic Wincest written for Wincestmas 2017

Sam staggers to bed at 4:00am after finally finding some reliable lore on Hodags for Garth. Dean’s on his way back from hunting a Wendigo with Claire and the bunker is echoey and strange without him. Sam tosses and turns for at least an hour, trying to settle his mind before slipping into a restless sleep. 

When Sam stumbles into the kitchen later that morning, Dean’s standing over the stove, making eggs in clothes rumpled from his seven hour car ride. Sam nods at Dean and Dean gives him an automatic once over and starts to turn back to the stove, before double-taking and eying Sam’s hair with disturbing suspicion.

“I swear, man, it’s like your hair’s got a mind of its own,” Dean says, breaking up the eggs scrambling in the pan. “Maybe it’s possessed. You should really let me take care of it.” Dean gestures at Sam’s head with the spatula. A little piece of egg goes flying through the air and lands right in the wild flip of hair curling around Sam’s jaw. Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows like he meant for it to happen.

“Oh, come on,” Sam grumbles and picks the piece of egg from his hair to flick back at Dean. He misses spectacularly, egg flopping harmlessly to the floor, but Dean’s already turned back to the stove and he doesn’t see, so Sam calls it a wash. By the time Sam pours himself a cup of coffee and slouches into his chair at the kitchen table, Dean’s divided the eggs onto two plates. He sets one down in front of Sam and slides into his own chair.

“Sleep ok?” Dean asks now that he’s gotten a proper look at Sam.

Sam is too busy trying to shove his whole face into his coffee mug to answer, so he grunts instead.

“Take that as a no, then,” Dean says and sets about eating his breakfast. He keeps shooting Sam little glances as they eat in silence, but Sam is used to his brother’s eyes on him. He settles into his chair and rides the wave of warmth every time Dean’s gaze passes over his face.

Sam pushes his empty plate away and reaches for his coffee mug, but Dean’s fingers wrap around his wrist before he can grab it.

“Nuh uh,” Dean says. “No more coffee. It’s back to bed for you.”

Sam huffs, makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he turns his hand over in Dean’s so they’re cradling each others wrists and watches Dean’s eyes go soft. This thing between them is new and scary and so good it makes Sam’s heart ache to think about it. They don’t know how they fit together yet with this new dimension of the puzzle to work with, but they’ve been taking it slow. So it’s still a surprise when Dean leads him from the kitchen and past the turn for Sam’s room.

Sam’s heart races as Dean pulls Sam to his own door, hip-checking it open and groaning as he toes out of his boots. Sam stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching as Dean skins out of his jeans and overshirt. Sam can tell from the way he’s moving, the plodding slowness of it, that Dean’s going to crash hard and fast. Sam’s seen him fall asleep in two minutes flat when he gets like this. When Dean’s down to his boxers and t-shirt, he turns back to Sam and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Quit holding up the show. I’m beat.” Dean gets into the far side of the bed and tugs down the sheets for Sam.

Sam nudges the door shut and slides under the covers, turning on his side with his back to Dean to hide the hectic blush staining his cheeks. They’ve shared beds before, but never like this. Just because they want to, and they can.

Dean doesn’t notice or chooses not to say anything as he curls up against Sam’s back, nuzzling into Sam’s hair, draping one arm over his waist, and tugging him further on to the bed.

“Hunt go ok?” Sam asks, and Dean hums, lips vibrating against the curve of Sam’s neck.

“Take that as a yes,” Sam says, and Dean squeezes his hip, his breath already slowing down. Sam tracks Dean’s progress toward sleep in the warm puffs of breath that stir his hair and the way Dean’s arm gets heavier against his side. Two new things he thought he’d never know about Dean and his heart squeezes in his chest even as his eyes grow heavy.

Sam falls asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
